


what we grow to be

by killerqueenwrites



Series: it is our choices that show what we truly are [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Gen, Magic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, because i am incapable of writing simple fluff, fight me, peter parker is a hufflepuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: Peter's world has been turned upside-down in a matter of weeks. His parents knew magic, and now he’s on a train that left from a platform that shouldn’t exist, on his way to to a school especially for witches and wizards. Because he’s a wizard. All from one handwritten letter that had arrived on an otherwise unremarkable morning of his summer holidays.And that's not even the most startling secret about his life.
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: it is our choices that show what we truly are [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073807
Comments: 42
Kudos: 257
Collections: The Friendly Neighborhood Exchange





	what we grow to be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mountain_spiderling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_spiderling/gifts).



> i went for prompt number 3: ‘Hogwarts crossover with Tony there as a teacher, please?’ this got so long and dramatic? i’m so sorry, i’m incapable of writing simple fluff. also apologies for the moments my mythology/english lit nerd jumped out. i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> title from the goblet of fire

Peter heaves a huge sigh as the train pulls away from the station, tension falling from his shoulders. The last few weeks of his life have been crazy, to say the least. Overwhelming. Unbelievable.

Magic is real. Witches and wizards are real. And May and Ben _knew_ about it.

Peter shakes off the thought. He gets why they hid the truth about his parents from him. Kind of. Maybe.

His parents knew magic, and now he’s on a train that left from a platform that shouldn’t exist, on his way to to a school especially for witches and wizards. Because he’s a wizard. All from one handwritten letter that had arrived on an otherwise unremarkable morning of his summer holidays.

“Hey, are you a first year?”

Peter blinks up at the older boy that had appeared from seemingly nowhere. “Uh…”

“There’s a load of newbies a few compartments down, if you want to go and join them. It’s a long journey – you’ll want to grab a seat.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

The boy nods. His hair is so blond it’s almost white. “If you need anything, my name’s Pietro. I’m a Gryffindor prefect.”

Peter nods like he understands what that means. “Right. Thank you.”

“That way,” Pietro says, and he’s gone again.

It takes a moment for Peter to find the right compartment, and he hovers outside for a second, until one of the girls looks up from her book and makes direct, challenging eye contact with him. He slides the door open.

“Oh, hey! Another one!” one of the boys cheers. “I swear the prefects are rounding us all up. Who sent you?”

“Um, Pietro,” Peter manages. He didn’t think schools still had prefects. “I’m Peter. Parker.”

“I’m Ned, and this is Flash–“

“I’m Betty,” a blonde girl says, “and this is Michelle.” The girl who’d stared Peter down holds up a peace sign. “So what house do you think you’ll be in?”

“Um…” The teacher sent to help him – Mr Hogan – had been friendly, to a point, but scatter-brained beyond belief. He’d managed to get Peter everything he needed – quills, a cauldron, a wand, books, robes – and still left him completely nonplussed,

“Oh, are you Muggle-born?” Flash says. “Terrific. Another one.”

“Actually, I’m not. My parents were wizards, but they died when I was a baby. I grew up with my aunt and uncle.” Peter looks down when he notices them all staring at him. “Anyway. Yeah.”

Ned just blinks and shuffles down the bench a little, gesturing for Peter to take a seat. “Well, there are four houses at Hogwarts, and you get sorted depending on the kind of person you are…”

* * *

The castle is awe-inspiring, precariously balanced on the side of a cliff, all towering spires and huge Gothic windows: the castle of fairytales. Peter’s never seen anything like it.

“Whoa,” Ned breathes as they’re led in through the front door by a grumpy Mr Hogan. “This is _awesome_. Can’t believe my sister didn’t tell me about…” He gestures vaguely.

“If someone had told me there was a wizard school, this is exactly how I’d imagine it,” Peter agrees.

Michelle, walking beside them, smirks.

“This way, first years,” a voice calls. Everyone starts, looks around. “My apologies, I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Jarvis, you do this _every_ year.”

“The walls,” Peter says, “are _talking_.”

“Just up the stairs and through the doors – we’ll have to introduce ourselves another time. Friday will open the door for you.”

Flash leads the group up the stairs, eyes darting around nervously. Peter has to stifle a laugh at his expression. The double doors swing open without a sound and they’re suddenly greeted by a chorus of chattering voices.

“This is the Great Hall,” Michelle mutters in Peter’s ear, as if she can sense how suddenly overwhelmed he is. “Pretty much every meal is in here. Each house has a table, and the teachers sit at the top table. The ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky.”

Peter glances up and gasps at the stars twinkling where there should be stone arches.

They’re getting closer to the head table, raised at the front of the hall. A blonde woman is waiting for them, holding a ragged witch’s hat in one hand.

“Welcome, first years,” she calls, and her hands flash with white light. Betty jumps. The hall falls silent. “My name is Professor Danvers. I teach Astronomy here. When I call your name, take a seat on this stool and you’ll be Sorted into your houses. Sound good? Right. Elizabeth Brant?”

Betty steps forward, taking a steadying breath, and Professor Danvers places the hat on her head as soon as she sits down.

“The hat Sorts you?” Peter breathes.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The hall bursts into applause. Did the hat say that? There’s no way the hat said that. But _magic_ , Peter has to remind himself.

He looks around the room, catching the gaze of the man sitting in the centre of the staff table – the headmaster, maybe. He has one eye visible, the other covered by a patch, and he’s staring right at Peter.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Peter claps along with everyone else, searching for something else to look at. “Who’s that?” he whispers to Ned. The teacher he points out has brown hair and a carefully shaped beard. There’s a strange melancholy in his eyes as gazes at the assembled first years, as if he’s looking for someone he knows won’t be there.

Ned shrugs, but Michelle leans over to whisper in his ear. “That’s Professor Stark. Head of Ravenclaw. Teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Peter nods in thanks.

“Michelle Jones?”

Michelle sets her shoulders and walks towards the stool, fists clenched. It takes a moment, but eventually there’s a bellow of, “RAVENCLAW!”

The house of wisdom, Ned had told him. Professor Stark applauds her with a wide grin.

“Edward Leeds.”

“Okay,” Ned squeaks.

“Good luck,” Peter whispers. He feels sick with nerves; his turn must be soon.

Ned looks pale as Professor Danvers lowers the hat onto his head. Another moment of silence, then, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Lucinda Moon?”

“Cindy,” the girl mutters under her breath as she makes her way to the front. She’s sorted into Ravenclaw.

“Peter Parker?”

Peter swallows and steps forward. The headmaster isn’t looking at him anymore; no, he’s staring at Professor Stark, who in turn is staring at Peter with something approaching horror.

Peter nearly trips on his way up the step. He can hear Flash sniggering behind him.

The professor frowns a little, too, but places the hat on his head.

_Ah, a Parker._

The voice comes from nowhere – between Peter’s ears, everywhere all at once.

_Never thought I’d see the day._

Is the hat _talking_ to him?

_Keep up, Parker. Hmm, now, where to put you? There’s a big brain in there, yes. Such intelligence. But more than that – loyalty and kindness, mm. All others before yourself. A need for justice, to do what is right because you can, so you must. Yes, yes, I think you’ll do well in HUFFLEPUFF!_

Peter hops off the stool with a sigh of relief as Professor Danvers plucks the hat away, trotting over to the table that’s cheering the loudest and sliding onto the bench beside Ned. He glances back at the staff table; both Professor Stark and the headmaster are staring at him now. He turns back around, accepting a few enthusiastic handshakes with bemusement.

“Man, I’m so glad you’re with me,” Ned whispers as the cheering dies down. “You so could’ve gone in Ravenclaw.”

“I think it thought about it,” Peter agrees, and an older girl with long brown hair leans over from the Slytherin table to shush them.

“Careful,” Betty hisses. “You don’t want a prefect’s detention.”

They fall silent as a few more students get Sorted.

“Hey, look at Professor Stark and Professor Potts,” Ned whispers in Peter’s ear. “My sister says there’s totally something going on with them.”

Peter opens his mouth to ask who that is, but stops when he sees the woman sitting beside to Professor Stark, long strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Their heads are bent close together, both of them murmuring.

“Don’t gossip!” Betty says from Ned’s other side, but she leans in to their conversation as well. “But yeah, my brother takes Arithmancy and he says Stark just finds excuses to walk in and speak to Potts.”

“Think the headmaster knows?” Ned says.

“Fury? He knows everything.”

Another burst of applause cuts them off as Flash gets Sorted into Slytherin.

“We must be nearly done,” Ned whines. “I’m so hungry.”

Peter glances at the table in front of them, empty except for a few wands or hats placed down. He wonders how the food gets served.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“And that’s the Sorting done for another year,” Professor Danvers announces. “Welcome to Hogwarts, first years. Headmaster?”

“I’ll keep this short and sweet,” the headmaster says. His voice is quiet, but it carries. “Have a good school year. Now, enjoy your welcome feast.”

A teacher with a plaster on his cheek stifles a snort.

“Short and sweet,” Peter agrees.

It’s like he blinks and the food appears, but that can’t be right, because food can’t appear out of nowhere. He frowns, blinks again – nope, the food is still there. He glances at Ned, his mouth falling open.

“Well?” Ned says. “You heard the man. Tuck in.”

* * *

“Too early,” Ned is whining. “Peter, I’m still so full from last night. Help.”

“Eat your breakfast. I’m not being late to my first lesson because of you. _And_ it’s with our head of house.”

“Ughh,” Ned groans.

Michelle slides into the bench across from them, eyebrows raised. “You two should hurry up. It’s a long walk down to the greenhouses.”

“See?” Peter says pointedly. “We can’t be late on our first day.”

Ned groans again.

* * *

“Welcome to Herbology!” Professor Banner says. “I‘ve met some of you already – my new Hufflepuff students. I’m sure I’ll get to know all of you very soon. Now, first things first: Herbology takes practice. Don’t be discouraged if your Devil’s Snare tries to strangle you at first.”

Ned gulps loudly.

“Of course, it does help that I have, ah, _green_ thumbs–“ Everyone gasps as Professor Banner’s hands turn green for a moment before going back to normal. He grins. “Works on first years every time.”

* * *

“I’d say ‘welcome to Charms’, but I don’t mean it.”

Peter shares an amused glance with Michelle.

“My name is Professor Odinson, not to be confused with my idiot brother who teaches Ancient Runes. _Yes_ , he got me this job. No, I do not like it. Now, everyone pick up your wands and try not to make any movements that would set something on fire. Such a mess to clean up.”

No one moves.

“So every single one of you is prone to accidental pyromania. Wonderful. We might finally have some fun.”

* * *

“Welcome, welcome! So glad you found your way down here. Welcome to Potions. I am Professor Beck.”

Peter’s glad they have this class just before lunch; he couldn’t handle this teacher’s energy first thing in the morning.

“Apologies for the rather depressing setting – no, no, you’re not late, come on in. They exile potion classes down here in the dungeons so any foul-smelling accidents don’t stink out the rest of the castle.” Professor Beck smiles. “Now, I know this bit is boring, but it’s compulsory, I’m afraid: cauldron safety.”

Someone groans.

“I know, I know, but cleaning up exploded students is a lot of work. First of all, these things get hot, people. Even if your fire isn’t lit, magical reactions might still be happening inside them. Do. Not. Touch.” He grins at Peter as if to say _‘should be obvious, right?’_ “Second, your knives are sharp, people. Be careful with them. A few drops of blood could easily ruin the composition of whatever you’re brewing. Also, that’s a safety thing. Um, what else…?”

* * *

“Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Of all the lessons, Peter’s been dreading this one the most. So far, Professor Stark hasn’t even glanced at him; he doesn’t know if that’s better or worse than being stared at.

“I won’t insult your intelligence. It’s what it says on the tin. What I think we need to nail down…” He taps his wand on his desk. “What exactly are the aforementioned Dark Arts?”

“Monsters,” Betty answers.

“Monsters, good. Any examples for me?”

“Dragons,” Michelle says.

“Mm, maybe. Careful with that, though – wild dragons, certainly. Steer clear. Dragons raised in captivity – they’re just oversized, fire-breathing puppies. What else?”

“Selkies,” someone calls from the back of the room.

“Quite right. Selkies and banshees. Kelpies, water horses, pookas – not to be confused with Thestrals, now. All myths to Muggles, not so much to us. What else do you think is part of the Dark Arts?”

“Evil wizards,” Ned says.

“Evil wizards.” Professor Stark smiles grimly, his gaze skipping right over Peter. “Evil wizards are perhaps the most dangerous, because evil wizards can perform evil spells. Luckily, you’re all babies so you don’t have to worry about that. We’re going to start off with faeries – that’s F-A-E-R-I-E-S. The Fair Folk. The Fay. Hailing from the land of Faerie, _Elf-hame_. Now, if you’re thinking that faeries are far too cunning for a first-year class, you’d be right. In general. Never bargain with a faerie. Never tell them your name. Luckily for us, they come in all shapes and sizes, and some are stupider than others. Today–“ Professor Stark pulls a cage out from behind his desk and sets it on top, letting everyone stare at the blue creatures flitting around inside. “Cornish pixies.”

“He’s so cool,” Ned whispers to Peter.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he likes me.”

“It’s our first day, how can he not like you?”

Peter shrugs. Professor Stark doesn’t look at him for the rest of the lesson.

* * *

“Aw, man, I forgot my quill,” Peter groans.

“Dude!”

They’re leaving the common room after lunch, on their way to Transfiguration.

“I’ll run back and get it. I’ll catch you up.”

“You can’t be late. Professor Romanoff is terrifying.”

“Okay, then go! I’ll run.”

Ned sighs, but jogs after Betty. Peter turns and darts up the staircase to his dorm. He can’t find his quill where he thought he’d left it, and scrabbles frantically for the little box that holds his spares. He spots the Peter’s Quills logo and pulls it out from under his bed.

He’s definitely going to have to run if he doesn’t want to be late.

The common room is silent and empty when he runs back through; even the older students have left. He’s so late. On his first day. What a nightmare.

“Okay,” Peter gasps to himself, “just need to run. To the other side of the castle. No problem.”

He’s certain he’s never walked past that picture before – actually, didn’t the stairs go in the other direction? Crap. He’s so lost. He thinks someone had mentioned the stairs moving – a prefect, maybe. He should have paid more attention.

“Nice one, Peter,” he mutters, and turns down a corridor that he hopes will take him in the right direction. It doesn’t. “Terrific.”

Voices ahead of him. He speeds up; maybe they can point him in the right direction.

“You couldn’t even tell me the kid was alive?” That’s Professor Stark. Peter freezes.

“And what would you have done?” the headmaster asks, not unkindly.

“I could’ve – taken him in! Raised him!”

“Really? Eleven years ago, you could barely take care of yourself, let alone an infant.”

“That’s not the point!” Professor Stark bellows. “You lied to me for years! You told me he was _dead_ , and he grew up knowing nothing about who he is, who his parents were.”

Peter flinches back as the shout echoes down the corridor but trips on his robe and has to catch himself on the stone wall. When he looks up again, both the headmaster and Professor Stark are staring down at him. He hadn’t heard them move.

“Sorry!” he squeaks. “I’m really sorry! I – the stairs moved and I got lost – I’m supposed to be in Transfiguration right now.”

The headmaster sighs, his expression somehow exasperated and fond at the same time. “I think it’s time for all of us to have a talk.”

* * *

Headmaster Fury leads them to his office, robes swishing behind him. Peter’s about to ask where exactly they’re going when a door shimmers into view where there had only been a stone wall. He blinks in surprise, and Professor Stark offers him a reassuring smile.

Fury opens the door and strides through without acknowledging them, only stopping once he sees the ginger cat sitting on his desk. “Ah. I need you to make your way down to the Transfiguration classroom and inform Romanoff that Mr Parker will not be making her lesson today.”

Oh, _wow_ , he’s really in trouble. Peter swallows and twists his fingers together.

The cat meows and swishes her tail as she leaps down to the ground, pausing to rub against Peter’s ankles.

“Goose likes you.”

“Oh, um – she’s yours? Wait, her name’s Goose?”

Fury smiles and moves to stand behind his desk.

“Look, Mister – Professor Fury, I didn’t mean to, like, eavesdrop, I swear. I’m really sorry. I don’t even know what you were talking about, and–“

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Professor Stark interrupts. “Why don’t we tell him, Nick? Doesn’t seem fair to leave the kid in the dark.”

Fury sighs. “Go ahead. You’ve had him already today, haven’t you? Why haven’t you done it?”

Professor Stark turns away with a scoff. Peter looks between him and Fury, feeling very much as if he shouldn’t be here at all.

“Parker,” Fury says slow, measured, “the conversation you overheard was about you.”

“Me?” Peter says. “I don’t – what? Me? I’m not…” He pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m not dead.”

“No,” Fury agrees, “no, you’re not. I let people believe you were, though. It was the only way to protect you.”

“ _Protect_ me?”

“The people who killed your parents would have wanted you dead, too.”

“Killed my parents? My parents died in a plane crash!”

That makes Professor Stark whip around, affront written in every line of his face. “A _plane crash_? Richard and Mary Parker?”

“Stark, calm down,” Fury says. “Parker, have a seat. There’s a lot you don’t know, and some of it is my fault. Some of it is your aunt and uncle’s fault.” He pauses, points to a chair. “Sit _down_.”

Peter does. He’s not sure he could have stayed on his feet much longer.

“Your parents were very well known in our world. Did a lot of good work. Unfortunately, that made them a lot of enemies.” Fury sighs. “They knew this. That’s why you were with your aunt and uncle the day Osborn and his friends found them. It…” Another sigh. “They were great wizards, and even better people.”

“You knew them?” Peter says quietly. The name Osborn sends a cold shiver down his spine, but he tries to ignore it.

“I did. And so did Stark, maybe even better than I did.”

Peter twists in his chair to face Professor Stark, mouth falling open.

“Yeah, kid. We were best friends.” Professor Stark manages a half-smile. “You look so much like your mother, you know? Just enough of Richard there, too.”

“Why didn’t you say?” Peter demands, suddenly angry. “You were staring at me at the welcome feast – I thought you hated me.”

“Or I was looking at a ghost, because as far as I knew, my godson died the same night his parents did.”

_Godson_. He might as well have punched Peter in the gut.

“Dammit, I didn’t mean – I’m so bad at this. I thought you were _dead_ for eleven years, kid, and then you showed up here right as I was mourning the child that I thought would never get to start school, and you knew nothing more about us than a Muggle-born – a shock, to say the least.” Professor Stark glares at Fury. “You know who wasn’t shocked? Headmaster Know-It-All.”

“I’ve already explained why you couldn’t take him.”

“But not why you had to scorch the earth and let me think he’d died – I could’ve visited every so often–“

“You don’t think Tony Stark walking into some Muggle’s house would draw attention? I made the decisions I did to keep Mary and Richard’s son alive–“

Peter clears his throat. “Mary and Richard’s son is sitting right here.”

They both turn to look at him, the fond exasperation back on their faces.

“Yeah, that’s him, all right,” Professor Stark says drily.

Fury sighs, stepping back. “What’s done is done, Stark. When have you ever liked a decision I’ve made? The kid’s here. He’s alive.”

Professor Stark looks like he’s barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “Right. Sure. Your way is the only right one. Are we done here?”

“Absolutely. Don’t let me keep you.” Fury pulls out a sheet of parchment from his desk and sits down as he reads. “Have a good day.”

“Come on, kid,” Professor Stark says. “Headmaster Arsehole has checked out.”

“Um…” Peter jumps to his feet, realising he’s still clutching his stack of books and parchment like a lifeline. “Yeah. Thank you, Headmaster. I think.”

There’s the barest trace of a smile on Fury’s face as Peter turns away, following Professor Stark out of the office. The door disappears behind them and Peter leans against the wall, blows out a long, steadying breath.

Did May and Ben know about this too? Did they know he had a godfather but still chose to keep them apart? He isn’t sure about anything anymore.

“You all right, kid?” Professor Stark asks gently. “That was a lot to dump on you, I’m sorry.”

“Fine,” Peter says quietly. “Um, do you think I could – not go to the rest of my classes today? I’m kinda…”

“Not fine?”

“Yeah.”

Professor Stark nods. “Come to my office, if you want. I think we could both do with a cup of tea.”

* * *

Professor Stark’s office is at the back of his classroom, through a door that Peter hadn’t noticed earlier. He flicks his wand as he walks in, and a little stove in the corner flickers to life.

“Tea? Or coffee?”

“Um – tea, please.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been down to raid the kitchens yet, so no milk. Plenty of sugar, though.”

“Thanks, Professor Stark.”

“Call me Tony.”

“You’re a teacher,” Peter protests.

“And your godfather.” A pause. “Sorry, you probably need time–“

“It’s fine, Mr – Professor–“

“I’ll take Mr Stark, if your brain really can’t handle it.”

“Mr Stark,” Peter tries. He doesn’t mind that.

A mug appears on the desk, and Mr Stark pours tea into it. A spoon is stirring of its own accord. “You probably have a lot of questions.”

“Did my aunt and uncle know?”

Mr Stark sniffs. “I don’t think – well, your uncle knew a little. He knew his brother was a wizard, knew he married a witch – whether he knew what really happened to your parents, I can’t say.”

Peter takes a sip of his tea. “Did they know about you? Did they, like, keep you away, or…?”

“I don’t think so. Fury is a – a git. For him, you’re here now, alive and well, so the end justifies the means. He probably told a lot of lies to a lot of people.” Mr Stark smiles gently. “If your uncle didn’t tell you about magic, I could understand that, though. It can be dangerous when the wrong people use it.”

“Evil wizards?”

“Evil wizards,” Mr Stark agrees. “Which – speaking of – how do you feel about extra lessons? With me?”

Peter blinks. “Why?”

“Your parents were great wizards. Powerful. That scared people enough to kill them. Fury thought you were in enough danger that he had to hide you. If anything happened to you…”

“And just when I’m newly back from the dead.”

“Easy on the jokes, kid. I’m still recovering,” Mr Stark says, but he grins. “After dinner every night, I want you in here. We’ll set you up with some duelling skills. And if you need help with any homework, I’m more than happy to assist.”

“This feels like favouritism,” Peter says.

Mr Stark smiles with just a hint of mischief. “Good thing teachers aren’t allowed favourites.”

* * *

“That is _insane_!”

“Keep your voice down!” Peter hisses. The Slytherin prefect – Wanda, he thinks her name is – is looking at them again.

“Dude! He knew your parents! And he thought…” Ned trails off. “That is, like…”

“Insane?”

“Yeah!”

“He’s actually really nice,” Peter says, putting his knife and fork down on his plate. “He made me tea.”

“See, I knew he didn’t hate you. Seeing you was probably just a massive shock.” Ned frowns. “The headmaster was super weird about everything, if you ask me.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re getting extra Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons? Like, _what_? Imagine having a teacher in the family. Can’t relate.”

_Family_. A godfather he never knew about. Mr Stark is family.

* * *

“Okay, the most important thing I’m going to teach you is self-defence,” Mr Stark says. “You’re young; you won’t be throwing out hexes and curses left, right and centre. Even if you could, you’d be exhausted. No, there are two main spells that prevent your attacker hitting you with curses of their own. One: shielding yourself. Two: disarming them.”

“Uh…” Peter grips his wand. “I’m sure Mr Odinson could tell you I barely managed to _Wingardium Leviosa_ a feather, never mind whatever you think I can do.”

Mr Stark grins. “That’s fine, it’s just practice. Oh–“

Something flits into the classroom from the ajar office door, something that’s bright red and gold. It perches on a desk, and Peter can make out the shape of a bird, vivid plumage, a long tail.

“Pete, Dummy. Dummy, Pete.”

“His name is Dummy?” Because of course a cat called Goose isn’t the weirdest thing in this castle.

“Of course. Phoenixes die over and over again, and hatch out of ashes. Have you ever heard anything so stupid? All that energy wasted. What’s wrong with plain old immortality?”

The bird caws, somehow managing to sound offended.

“All right, all right. Just stay out of the way. Now, Mr Parker.” Mr Stark grins. “A shielding spell. Say _protego_.”

“ _Protego_.”

“Good. Again.”

“ _Protego_.”

“Now with your wand. Like you’re pulling up a wall between us.”

“ _Protego_ ,” Peter tries. A chair crashes to the floor. “Um…”

“Not to worry. Easily done.” Mr Stark rights it with a flick of his wand. “Less jabby this time. You’re not fencing.”

“ _Protego_.”

“With feeling.”

“ _Protego_!”

* * *

Peter settles into a routine from then on. He dives into his lessons with enthusiasm, even History of Magic.

(“Poor Rogers,” Mr Stark says one day, “the head of the house known for making rash decisions, and he somehow ended up with the most boring subject to teach.”)

Every evening, he makes his way to Mr Stark’s classroom. He meets Professors Rhodes and Potts there, as well as seeing Mr Hogan from time to time. It’s nice, normal. It’s like a family he never knew he had.

* * *

“Almost. I definitely felt it move that time.”

“Liar,” Peter grumbles. “Your wand didn’t even twitch.”

“Less of the attitude, kid.”

“Sorry. Long day.” He’d nearly ridden his broomstick into the Astronomy Tower, much to the dismay of Professor Danvers and Mr Wilson; Flash, of course, found it uproariously funny. He’d nearly singed his eyebrows off in Potions, and only Michelle’s quick reactions had saved him. To top it all off, he can’t even do this supposedly simple disarming spell they’ve been practicing for weeks.

“Want to call it a night?” Mr Stark says.

“A little longer?”

“Okay.”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Peter yells. This time, Mr Stark’s wand does shuffle a little, but that’s it. “Crap.”

“That was better!”

“It kinda wasn’t.”

“Kinda was.” Mr Stark reaches out and ruffles Peter’s hair. “You don’t need to beat yourself up about any of this. You’re in first year. You’re already doing amazing.” His hand rests on Peter’s head a moment longer. “We won’t have a lesson tomorrow – it’s Hallowe’en. Big feast. I fully anticipate food comas all around.”

“That was a very Muggle phrase, Mr Stark.”

“I’m picking up a few things from Rhodey. Now, go on. Don’t want Brucie – ah, Professor Banner – complaining I made you miss curfew and lost you points.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “All right. See you, Mr Stark.”

“Oh, Pete?”

“Hm?”

“I’m proud of you.”

* * *

There’s a buzz in the air all through the next day. Professor Romanoff transforms a regular pumpkin into a floating, illuminated jack-o’-lantern that cackles unnervingly for the rest of the lesson. Professor Stark brings Mr Barton, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, into his lesson with a vampire bat. Mr Odinson spends charms teaching them how to shoot black and orange sparks from their wands, although he can’t quite hide his disappointment when no one accidentally ignites anything.

“I wonder what the decorations will be like,” Michelle says as they walk down to the Great Hall for dinner. “Last year, apparently, they had _Dullahan_ riding around the corridors.”

Peter and Ned both blink.

“Headless horsemen? You’re hopeless. Anyway, one year they made a deal with the Wild Hunt to not, like, kidnap anyone and had them ride around the grounds.”

“Okay, Romanoff’s laughing pumpkin was creepy enough, thanks,” Peter says.

They file into the hall and their eyes are instantly drawn to the ceiling, where a full moon is shining down at them. Pumpkins and candles are hovering around the room, as are lit lanterns.

“Awesome,” Peter breathes. Ned nods.

“See you later, losers,” Michelle says, and walks towards the Ravenclaw table.

“Swear she secretly hates us,” Ned mumbles as he and Peter take a seat.

“I think that’s actually her way of saying she likes us.” Peter turns around to watch the door just as Mr Stark strolls in, arm-in-arm with Professor Potts. Betty stifles a snort from across the table.

“Someone’s out of shits to give.”

“Who cares, Ned? They look happy.”

Ned grins. “They do. I’m just saying, dude. Wait – if they, _you know_ , will that make Potts your godmother?”

“First of all, _shh_ ,” Peter hisses, glancing around. Mr Stark being his godfather isn’t exactly a secret, but they’re not yelling about it, either. “Second, that’s not how any of this works–“

“Troll!” The shout echoes through the hall, silencing the chatter in an instant. It’s Professor Beck, charging down one of the aisles towards the staff table, robes flapping behind him. “Troll in the – must’ve come in through the tunnels – it’s in the dungeons–!”

For a second, there’s only dull silence. Then someone screams. The chorus of voices swells again, this time in panic.

“Quiet!” Fury bellows. “Students, follow your prefects back to your common rooms. Slytherin students, go to the Hufflepuff common room for now until we know the dungeons are safe. Follow Maximoff – _Wanda_ Maximoff. Is that clear? Teachers, with me.”

“Come on.” Ned tugs on the sleeve of Peter’s robes, tangling his fingers through it as they dive into the sea of people. “That’s mad. Trolls are nasty, but so dumb. It’s so weird one managed to get in – and on Hallowe’en. I bet someone let it in as a prank–“

“Thank you, Mr Leeds. I’ve got him from here.”

“What–?” Ned starts. “Professor Stark?”

“This way, Peter.”

“Um…” Peter looks between Ned and Mr Stark, each of them with a firm grip on one of his arms. “It’s fine, Ned.”

“Peter–“

“Stay with everyone else!” Peter calls. The flood of people pushes them apart, and he loses track of his friend.

“Come with me,” Mr Stark says again. “Quickly, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Um, okay. Why?”

Mr Stark doesn’t answer, just tightens his fingers around Peter’s wrist. He pulls them both down the stairs, towards the dungeons.

“Where are we going?” No answer. “Mr Stark! The – the troll’s down here.”

“Well, with any luck, it’ll be on its way to the Ravenclaw common room by now.”

“W-what…?” Peter tries to tug his arm free. “Mr Stark–“ A thought hits him suddenly, cold horror gripping his stomach. “You called me Peter.”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Mr Stark never calls me Peter.”

Mr Stark – _not Mr Stark, it’s not him_ – turns slowly, a grin creeping slowly across his face. “Damn. You’re as smart as your parents were. Cat’s out of the bag, I guess.”

His face twitches, moves – and suddenly it’s bubbling, like something is _boiling_ under his skin. Peter jerks back with a gasp but hits a solid wall.

Not-Mr Stark groans. “Shit. Only took enough for a few minutes – almost got away with it–“ He turns back, and it’s Professor Beck, his normally combed-back hair flopping into his face. “Hey, kiddo.”

“What–?” Peter stammers. “Why–?”

“Hm, you really trust Stark. Didn’t even question coming with me. All right, let’s move. We need to get into the tunnels before anyone notices. Shift it, come on.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Peter tries to sound firm, but his voice trembles.

“No? And Osborn was so excited to finally meet you.”

Osborn. The man who killed his parents. Peter shakes his head, takes a step back. One hand grips his wand.

“Sorry, kid, but you don’t really have a choice.” Beck lifts his own wand, a dangerous smile splitting his face. “ _Petrificus to_ –!”

“ _Protego_!” Peter cries, throwing up a shield. The spell bounces off harmlessly.

“Ooh, Baby Parker has some moves!” Beck seems genuinely delighted by that. “Come on, kid. _Stupefy_!”

“ _Protego_!” Peter yelps again, but it’s more effort this time; he can feel the shockwaves vibrating up his wand arm when he deflects the curse.

“Getting tired already?” Beck taunts. “I’m disappointed, Peter. Really.”

_I can’t let him take me_. Desperate, Peter yells, “ _Expelliarmus_!”

Beck shrugs the spell away with a flick of his wand. It looks effortless. Peter’s already panting. “Please. What did you think you could do against me? You’re a child.” He twirls his wrist and a length of rope flies out of the end of his wand; it wraps around Peter’s legs and yanks them together, sending him crashing to the floor. “Merlin, you’re annoying. Just my luck it was my job to collect you.” He sighs and aims his wand again. “ _Expelliarmus_!”

“ _Protego_!” Peter half-expects it not to work, but it does. A shield springs up and deflects Beck’s spell; the angle is different, though, and the red streak of light bounces up towards the ceiling. Cracks appear in the ancient stonework, slowly at first, but spreading faster and faster.

Peter barely has time to cry out before the ceiling gives way and the world falls down around him.

* * *

“Peter!”

The voice is loud, frantic, slicing through the ringing in his ears.

“Peter! Answer me!”

Okay, except he can’t move his head, or his legs – he can barely breathe–

“ _Homenum revelio_.” That’s a new voice, one that’s quieter, but still just as panicked. “Tony, here!”

“Start clearing the rubble – fucking Merlin. How could I–? Should’ve known Beck was working for Osborn–“

“How could you have known? He even had Fury fooled.”

Peter tries to drag in a breath, but ends up choking on dust. He splutters helplessly.

“Peter!”

There’s a rumbling, like stones rolling against each other. Light. Someone grabs him under the armpits and drags him up and out.

“ _Peter_.” Mr Stark. Mr Stark has him. “Hey, kiddo, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Peter coughs, still gagging on dust.

“Yeah, just breathe. Just breathe, there you go.” Something is cradling his face, gentle, careful. “You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“Let me get his legs,” the other voice murmurs. Professor Rhodes. The ropes fall away. “He needs the infirmary, Tones. He’s bleeding.”

With a gasp, Peter lets his head fall forward until it hits something solid.

“Merlin’s beard, Pete,” Mr Stark breathes. “Nearly had a heart attack.”

“Wait,” Peter rasps, then again, more insistently, “Wait – how do I know–? Prove it’s you.” He blinks dust out of his eyes and sees Mr Stark frowning down at him.

“Kid, what–?”

“Is it you?”

“Yes, it’s me – um, the second time you came to my office was the first extra lesson I gave you. You met Dummy and knocked over a chair. Unrelated incidents.”

“Okay,” Peter says quietly, “okay, it’s you.”

“Of course it’s me–“ Mr Stark breaks off. “Polyjuice Potion. That bastard.” He hugs Peter suddenly, frantically. “When Bruce said you weren’t in the common room – and Leeds said he’d seen you with me – I’ve never been so scared, Pete.”

“It was Beck, he–“

“Yeah, we noticed he was missing pretty quick. Almost not fast enough…”

“N’t y’r f’lt,” Peter mutters, and every syllable is suddenly an indescribable effort.

“Hey, kid, don’t check out. Rhodey, what’s wrong with him?”

“Uh, Muggles call it concussion, I think?”

“What?”

“He’s had a bang on the head.”

“Okay. Infirmary.” Mr Stark sounds like he’s talking from the other end of a long tunnel. “Right. Hang in there, kiddo. I got you.”

“I’ll take care of Beck. Look after him.”

Something sweeps Peter’s legs out from under him; he’s being carried, but he feels safe. This person is going to keep him _safe_.

“I got you.”

* * *

Peter wakes up slowly, painfully, every inch of him resisting. It’s like dragging his body through a bog, but he fights through it.

“Are you with me, kid?”

_Maybe._

“Can you open your eyes?”

_Maybe_. He tries harder, screwing up his face against the light.

“Hey, there he is. Better late than never.”

“Misser S’ark?”

“Me, kid. Nice of you to finally join us. Damn near ended me with the stress.”

“Huh.” Peter lifts a hand to scrub at his eyes. He’s lying on one bed of many in the large room – the infirmary, he’s guessing. “What – what happened? Beck – where’d he go? The troll! Is everyone okay? And–“ He sits up, wincing when something twinges in his chest.

“Steady,” Mr Stark says gently. “One thing at a time, buddy. We got the troll out fine – it was just a distraction. Didn’t hurt anyone, except maybe Strange’s pride. You, on the other hand, got yourself buried in the dungeons because Beck was pretending to be me and – why? What did he want?”

“He was working for Osborn,” Peter says quietly.

“…what?”

“He was trying – he wanted to get me into the tunnels. I don’t know why. He said Osborn wanted to meet me.”

“Because the tunnels could get you off the grounds, and then he could Disapparate with you,” Mr Stark says. “And the troll would have kept everyone occupied – maybe for hours. Shit. _Shit_.”

“Lucky I blew up the ceiling,” Peter says, only half-joking.

Mr Stark’s gaze snaps back to him. “What?”

“Well – he tried a few spells but I deflected them, and one hit the ceiling. Total accident. In hindsight, actually quite lucky. As it turns out.”

“Merlin’s beard, Pete.” One second Mr Stark is running a shaking hand over his face; the next, he’s gathering Peter in a tight hug.

Peter stiffens in shock, but then relaxes into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut. One of Mr Stark’s hands clasps the back of his head, cradles it gently.

“This is you, right?” he mumbles into Mr Stark’s shoulder.

“I lied that your disarming spell was working the night before Hallowe’en,” Mr Stark whispers back. “Just trying to help. You saw right through it.”

“Okay, it’s you.” Peter burrows his face a little further into Mr Stark’s chest. “What happened to Beck? Is he okay?”

“Trust you to worry about the guy who tried to kidnap you.” Mr Stark hesitates. “We couldn’t find him. Probably slithered away before we got there – wouldn’t be surprised if he could turn into a snake, actually. Guess that means he’s okay.” His arms tighten around Peter’s shoulders. “He’s not getting near you ever again, kid. Not him, or Osborn, or any of their friends. Not ever. They’ll have to go through me first.”

Peter nods. “I know.”

Mr Stark pulls away, one hand still resting on Peter’s shoulder. “Your friends have been worried sick about you. You feel up to seeing them?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because you slept through the second Hallowe’en feast and missed the pookas someone let in as a prank – I mean, the _mess_. They might be supernatural, but they’re still horses and they left shit _everywhere_ –“

Peter bursts out laughing. It’s slightly hysterical, but he can’t help it, bending forward and burying his head in his knees. Part of it is sheer relief, he thinks. Maybe what Beck did is catching up to him. Mr Stark laughs too, ruffling his hair gently.

“You’re all right, kiddo. We’re all right.”

Yeah, they’re all right.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @akillerqueenwrites or @akillerqueenyouare. i also have a twitter, @killerqueenao3, if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!


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